Seasonal Poems

[lunababymoonchild]

So very beautiful and apt

Edited May 1, 2023 by lunababymoonchild

[lunababymoonchild]

My offering:

 

There dwells a subtle fragrance

Within the woods of May,
That baffles all description,
Inviting us to stay.
Aroma of the spring-time.
Of bursting buds it tells,
Of wild flowers bright unfolding
From out their tiny cells.

 

The new-born leaves a tender
And brilliant green display;
When come the heats of summer,
It quickly flies away.
Among the trees we wander,
With sense of keen delight;
We may not feel it later,
Though sunshine be as bright.

 

Sweet Nature's resurrection
From Winter's ice and snow,
Fills woods of May with beauty
Beyond all else we know.
The fragrant honeysuckle,
And dogwood flowers white,
Bloom here in all their glory,
A vision of delight.

 

How natural to linger
Among the woods of May,
So many wonders are there,
Inviting us to stay.
Each bush and tree has treasures
Of leaf, or bud, or flower;
No art there is like Nature's,
When she exerts her power.

 

A tender, new-born glory,
The leaflets all display,
There dwells a subtle fragrance
Around our path to-day;
It bids us pause and linger,
Ere it be gone for aye.
What joy and peace and sweetness
Within the woods of May!

 

The Woods in May by Ellwood Roberts

Edited May 1, 2023 by lunababymoonchild

[Hayley]

On 5/1/2023 at 10:27 AM, lunababymoonchild said:

The Woods in May by Ellwood Roberts

I've never read this one before but I really like it! 

[Hayley]

In February by John Addington Symonds

 

The birds have been singing to-day
And saying: "The spring is near!
The sun is as warm as in May,
And the deep blue heavens are clear."

The little bird on the boughs
Of the sombre snow-laden pine
Thinks: "Where shall I build me my house,
And how shall I make it fine?

"For the season of snow is past;
The mild south wind is on high;
And the scent of the spring is cast
From his wing as he hurries by."

The little birds twitter and cheep
To their loves on the leafless larch:
But seven foot deep the snow-wreaths sleep,
And the year hath not worn to March.